In Sheep's Clothing
by Ithilwen K-Bane
Summary: When you've been sent on a dangerous undercover mission into enemy territory, it really helps if your partner is at least a little smarter than a kumquat. Rated for language.
1. Rosencrantz & Guildenstern are Braindead

I do not own Underworld or its characters or settings. For these, I would like to commend Len Wiseman, Kevin Grivioux, Danny McBride and everyone else who worked on this fine film, especially Ralph Flores Jr. Surely you are a lord among gaffers. Further disclaimers follow.

This is still a bit of a work in progress, so all criticism of a constructive nature will be welcomed with evil cookies courtesy of Chaos Baked Goods. Try the muffins. Or else. This is the third draft of this chapter.

(Bows to T. Stoppard)

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

Taylor shifted in his seat and swallowed hard. "We shouldn't be here," he murmured.

"Shut up," Pierce hissed back. "You'll keep your courage if you want to beat the bloods into the earth."

Taylor shook his head. It hadn't been too long ago that the scariest thing he'd consider doing was taking the graveyard shift at the docks without a piece. So much for the good life. With the wolf's bite had come strength, purpose and such a new sheen on his senses that he'd wondered why he'd ever considered himself alive before, but damn it, he wasn't a fan of the gun-toting drag queens who wanted to make his pelt into a seat cover. He sighed nervously. At least it would probably be for a Jag.

Nothing about this place felt right, not the unhurried murmur of its occupants, not the way the light eddied against the floor, not the sound of metal clinking against metal in the room behind the swinging gates. Even the rasp of cloth against his skin felt alien. This was enemy territory, plain and simple.

Pierce gave a derisive snort. "I can't believe Lucian sent me out here with a new mark like you to watch my back."

"Yeah?" Taylor felt his face heat. "Well I can't believe we're in a cop diner!"

"He said to make it look real," Pierce answered defensively.

"Let's see," the waitress rasped in the voice of a thousand cigarettes. "That was a burger and fries for you, and one chef's special..." She trailed off, plunking a mostly-clean plate in front of Taylor. Over her shoulder, he could see the opposite row of booths, half-full of customers, half of them in uniform, catching a quick meal before shift change or just slurping down a cup of something hot and caffeinated that really didn't deserve to be called coffee. Thankfully, none of them were looking this way. "Can I get you anything else?"

"Uh..." Taylor reached. "Could we have another minute?" he asked, smiling as he fumbled with the gooily laminated menu. He knew his newly peeled cheeks still had just enough baby fat to pull it off. Forget thirty; thanks to Lucian, Taylor was going to get carded until he was three hundred.

It might've worked if it hadn't been the graveyard shift. "It i'n' life and death, pal," she husked at him.

"No thanks?"

"You're the boss." The waitress blinked her kohl-caked eyes and slouched away.

"This is where the real ones go," Pierce explained, adjusting the collar of the uniform that had until a few hours ago, belonged to the hapless Officer Stern. "I've seen 'em."

"Oh God..." Taylor muttered between his teeth as one of the other patrons looked up. The guy didn't look like much, hair going gray and just a hint of a gut, but he could have been an off-duty in civvies. Taylor smiled weakly and the human looked away.

Like most of the more recent additions to the lycan clan, Taylor's human life hadn't left him with much fondness for law enforcement. Taylor didn't like cops. Next to the death dealers they looked like the goddamn Avon lady, but he still didn't like cops. In fact, if someone had asked him, years earlier, whether he thought himself more likely to be bitten by a werewolf or to find himself standing in a cop hangout wearing a cop uniform trying his damnedest not to tick off the cops, he'd probably have picked the first one.

Fate had a sense of humor that could stun a yak.

"We should've just stayed in the car 'til he called us," he said, dropping his voice nearly out of human hearing.

"He _said_ to make it look real," Pierce repeated in the same demon undertone.

"We could've made it look real from the car. We're gonna get fucking caught!" Taylor sliced one hand in Pierce's direction, moving the other to not-so-surreptitiously shield his face. "That Adam guy at the hospital bought it like anything, but we're not going to fool real ones."

"Nonsense. Humans are like sheep..." Pierce began.

"You mean you come and visit when you're lonely?" Taylor muttered under his breath.

"I mean that they follow the herd, you disrespectful piece of shit," Pierce went on. "As long as we don't do anything to stand out, they'll just sit there chewing their cud like contented little—"

"Sheep don't chew cud."

"Yes they do."

"Whatever. You're the expert," Taylor muttered as he ran his eyes across the far side of the diner. People were starting to look.

The scent of nicotine wafted down to him. "Something wrong with your food, officer?" asked the waitress. "You haven't touched it."

"Um..." Taylor gulped. The dietary restrictions of being lycan had taken some serious getting used to. There had been days in which he'd have died for a burger and fries, but now the scent bitch-slapping his nose made his stomach seize up and do calisthenics. The meat wasn't cooked; it was burned and soaked in grease. The bun wasn't bread; it was some dry and rotted thing that would choke him as soon as he forced it down. "I guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought."

The thing was, Taylor realized as his eyes found their way to the only appetizing thing in view, he really was hungry, actually hungry for something an immortal could chew and stomach and turn into strength...

"Hey!" Taylor blinked to find one nylon claw waving in front of his nose. "My eyes are up _here_," the waitress pointed.

"Uh..." Taylor winced at how pathetic he sounded. "I guess I just stared into space for a minute there. Sorry."

"There's plenty of _space_ that i'n' my chest, pal."

"I said I was sorry!"

She tossed her overdyed head and slunk off.

"Stop fighting with your food," Pierce muttered sullenly.

"Gladly," he muttered back. People were still looking. Taylor started sweating in stolen clothes. This was a cop hangout. This was a god damn cop hangout and any minute now, someone was going to notice—

"Sent me out here with a fucking new mark..." Pierce griped again. He pointed his nose at Taylor. "I don't know what a scrub like you is even doing with us."

Taylor gulped as he noticed more than one head turn their way, "Ah, Pier—_Stern_..?" he hinted.

"You should have stayed out where we found you," he jabbed, "feeding fish guts to that damn stray."

The young lycan's whole body seized up. "_That_ has nothing to do with this _or_ why we're here."

Pierce wasn't done. "You think that just because you can shoot straight that you can hold your own with what walks in this city?"

"I can control my change and that means I'm of age!" The words came out as a snarl. Taylor found himself on his feet. "The boss thinks I'm good enough for this job, and that—"

"Doesn't mean shit if you can't hack it!" Pierce was standing too. "Why do you think he paired you up with me? He hopes your dumb ass will learn something, dickhead."

"Then why choose a sheep-hugging asshole for a teacher?"

"'Cause you're not worth anyone else's time 'til you change your attitude!" Pierce slashed one hand almost to Taylor's throat. "If you stop thinking that you already know everything about this job then we _might_ not have to bury your damned carcass."

"You are such a—" Taylor cut off at a roar assaulted him from all sides. For a second he thought they were under attack. He tensed, one hand going toward his weapon as he cast around the sea of faces for the pasty-pale skin that meant death dealer.

Then he realized that half the clientele were on their feet. And they were applauding.

The gray-touched man from earlier took a step away from his booth. Laughing just a bit, he nodded to Pierce. "Partnered you up with a rookie, huh man?"

Pierce cocked an eyebrow. "Something like that," he answered. Taylor felt his face burn.

"You should listen to him, kid," the human went on. "Sounds like he knows what he's talking about. It's harsh out there."

If Taylor hadn't been watching, he wouldn't have seen the gloat hovering around Pierce's fangs.

"You're all right, pal," the human laughed, "except maybe for that sheep part. That's sick, man." He turned to Pierce, brow creasing the tiniest bit. "You look new. Just transfer in?"

"Yeah," Pierce answered.

"Where from?"

Someone dumped ice water into Taylor's angry blood.

"Up north a ways," Pierce answered.

"Where abouts?" asked the cop, smile dimming just a hint. "Which precinct?"

"Sixteenth..." Pierce improvised. Taylor could only watch. From the corner of his eye – hell, from all of his eye, the damn guys were everywhere – he could see some of the other patrons get up and come closer. Some of them were in uniform. Some were probably off duty, but damn it, in this part of town that didn't mean nobody was carrying.

"Stern," Taylor interrupted, trying his baby-fat smile again. "You know we're not from sixteenth." He wasn't expecting it to work, of course. "We're from—"

"What's your captain's name?" the gray man was asking, all the ease gone out of his manner.

"Lu— eh Bob," Pierce lied again. Taylor could feel the eyes settling down on them both, could feel the sweat leaking down Pierce's brow, could feel hands moving toward radios, toward sidearms.

Damn damn but fuckdamnit... Taylor _hated_ getting shot.

The gray man's eyes narrowed again. "What's your badge number?"

"Uh..." Pierce faltered. "Five?"

.  
.  
.

_Breaking news: Carnage at the South Street Diner. Five police officers and one employee were found horribly mangled not two hours ago. Surviving witnesses seem confused, but preliminary reports suggest feral dog attack. The department of animal control has been dispatched to apprehend—_

Lucian clicked off the radio, planting one palm on the corner of Singe's lab table. "I," he began, voice pulsing with leashed rage, "gave you _one_ job to do!"

"Lucian," Pierce began, "we did what you asked us to; we got the new mark's location—"

"Which does us no good if the vampires realize what we're up to, come after us in force and kill us all," Lucian didn't have to shout. He never had to shout. "If I could spare the men," he said, fixing them each in turn with that predator's eye, "I would have both your heads for putting our cause in danger. This is not some daylight raid for food or equipment," he said. "These next two nights will determine whether our species vanishes from the earth," he fumed, "and it's moments like these that make me wonder if the vampires are the real reason we're dying out."

Pierce took a breath. "What I don't understand is—"

"All you have to understand," Lucian commanded, "is the task I've set for you. Since I cannot replace you," he said, "I will have to trust you one more time. Can I rely on the two of you _not_ to start any more brawls with the human police?"

"Yes, Lucian," Talyor answered immediately. Pierce growled his assent.

The leader dismissed them with a nod of his head and they turned toward the exit shaft.

Pierce grumbled as the door clanged shut behind them. "I still don't—"

Taylor snarled in exasperation, both hands twitching. "It's the number that's _stamped on the badge_, Pierce."

Pierce twisted the silver shield around in his palm, both eyebrows lifting. "Huh," he nodded.

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

Where to send the blame: drf24 (at) columbia . edu

Disclaimers: This piece is – God, I love fanfiction – almost completely unresearched. I freely admit that the diner, the police officers and even the waitress are styled after U.S. and not Hungarian models. I don't pretend to know crud about real police officers and where they hang out. I can, however, commend the police forces of more than one American city for their restraint and professionalism.


	2. Solution to Everything

I do not own Underworld or its characters or settings. For these, I would like to commend Len Wiseman, Kevin Grivioux, Danny McBride and contact lens technicians Olina Norkova and Zsuzsanna Mile.

This is still a bit of a work in progress, so all criticism of a constructive nature will be welcomed with evil cookies courtesy of Chaos Baked Goods. Pure evil. With sprinkles.

This is the third version of this chapter.

(Bows to M K)

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

Taylor didn't think of himself as a coward. He'd held his own in a fight or two – before _and_ after the wolf – but, all talk of immortality aside, a new-bitten lycan had an average life expectancy of about three years. That meant refilling the ranks as soon and as reliably as possible. Raze and crew took the humans they could find – dockworkers, street enforcers, petty thieves. Soldiers were a fucking recruiter pipe dream. God only knew how they sniffed out the ones who could take it. Taylor sometimes wondered why he hadn't up and run when he'd found out what was what. He wondered if it was a wolf thing, loyalty to the alpha and all that zoology psychocrap. He wondered if it was something new in his blood.

Taylor didn't think of himself as a coward, but the thought of a displeased Lucian made him want to tuck his head down turtle-style into his poufy cop jacket.

"Do you think he's still—"

"Yes, quite upset with both of you," rasped Singe, measuring agarose into a beaker.

"All right," Pierce admitted, "the diner was a mistake. Can we please move on?"

"That isn't what I meant," Singe explained. "That duel of yours made quite a bit of noise. The death dealers nearly learned about our little refuge." The older lycan fixed Taylor with a clear but beady gaze, brow furrowing. "What set the two of you off like that anyhow?"

Pierce laughed smugly. "The runt completely overreacted."

"That's a matter of opinion." Taylor glared at him before turning back to Singe, "It was—"

He cut off at a clang from the outer door. Then the dingy hangings swished aside and Lucian strode through, blood still wet on his skin. His eyes were lit with something that had nothing to do with the fluorescent lights humming down on the makeshift lab.

For all that basic training had still kicked Taylor's ass, 'military discipline' in the lycan clan was limited to "fight hard," "don't trash stuff we'll need later" and "_shut the hell up when Lucian's talking_." Taylor and Pierce didn't exactly stand at attention, but the vibe rolling off Lucian with every step made both of them pull back and take notice.

Singe raised an eyebrow. "A second escape," he remarked. "Impressive. Perhaps Raze wasn't overstating matters."

"Raze didn't bring back this," he answered, holding up a red phial.

Singe's other eyebrow joined the first, every shred of sarcasm falling away as a fearful eagerness took its place. He looked up at Lucian. "If Michael is indeed a carrier, the vampires will—"

"Relax, old friend," Lucian's voice was as smooth as a lava floe, cold to the touch. "I've tasted his flesh. Just two days 'til full moon. Soon, he will be a lycan." His smile was hard. "Soon he will come looking for us."

Singe took the phial and Lucian followed him into the inner lab.

Taylor held back a laugh the hangings swished shut. "This is great," he muttered to Pierce in a loud whisper. "I freaking hate being the new guy."

Pierce was shaking his head. "_Him_? We're letting a weakling like him into this clan?"

"Pierce," said Taylor, "this Michael guy was tough enough to get away from Raze _and_ he passed medical school. It's a safe bet he's not a total loss."

"Maybe," he growled, "but anyone who—"

They both cut off at the sound of clinking glass, followed by Singe's amazed pronouncement:

"Positive." The word shuddered through the air like chills on a frosty morning.

"Wow," murmured Taylor at last. Pierce only grunted.

A moment passed, and then the hangings moved aside as Lucian left the inner lab. The boss gave them a nod and Taylor felt a bit better. This was good news, right? If Lucian shouldn't be so badly disposed as to think up evil punishments for a pair of inept but very very well-meaning henchmen...

"Out of curiosity," Taylor whispered to Pierce as Lucian crossed the room toward the armory, "what did you think we were going to do with the final candidate?"

Pierce shrugged and said at a quite ordinary volume, "The same thing we did with all the other candidates."

Taylor froze. So had Lucian. Taylor cringed as his leader slowly turned around. "Pierce," Lucian said wearily, "Michael Corvin carries the gene that permits the hybridization of the two immortal species, the gene that we have been searching for for years." He raised one hand, still caked with congealing blood. "If he proves trustworthy, he could be a great asset in our war against the vampires."

"So..." Pierce searched, "we're not going to eat him?"

Taylor shook his head. "That's your solution to everything."

"Quiet, runt!"

"No," Lucian said darkly, "we are not going to eat him." And then – shockingly – the lycan commander actually closed his eyes, letting one hand touch his forehead. "This war has been going on too long," he muttered. "It's been six hundred years since our kind was free to be anything but soldiers and before that..." he trailed off, ghosts hovering in his eyes. "Can you understand what that means?" he fixed the two of them with a half-dead fervor. "There has never been true lycan civilization on this earth. We may yet get the chance to bring our species to its potential. There will be warriors, yes, but perhaps we will also begin to recruit scholars, scientists—"

Taylor brightened, "Chicks?" he asked.

Lucian sighed. "Yes," he answered, "we will start turning women again."

"All right!"

"But if the two of you keep up your current, _spectacular_ level of ineptitude, then..." Lucian squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "Just go and check the armory, would you?" Taylor nodded and turned toward the exit shaft, barely feeling Pierce follow. "And try not to do anything stupid."

.  
.  
.

Maybe it wasn't the zoology psychocrap. Maybe it was the life-and-death situation psychocrap. Taylor had read about the sort of thing where soldiers in dangerous situations could form strong bonds so that obeying the leader guy was almost a reflex. ...okay, so he'd skimmed about it. ...okay, so it'd been on an episode of Oprah. He sighed. There were times when being a creature of the night was god-damn ass-confusing.

Still, it beat his old gig most of the time.

"Hey runt," snapped Pierce without looking up from the boot he was cleaning, "get over here and answer the god damn phone."

This was not one of those times.

"Get it yourself," he shot back.

"You know the rules," Pierce leveled a finger at him. "We put all the chores in a hat and you pulled phone duty. Unless you switch with someone—" Taylor really wasn't in the mood for another reaming. He stifled a chuckle. Said scolding session would have been more effective if Pierce's hair hadn't been crimped wild from when he'd bunned it back for the cop uniform. He looked like a twelve year-old girl fresh from a slumber party.

"All right. I'm getting it." Flesh-eating brotherhood of wolves, and they made him the damned receptionist. Taylor sighed, crossed the room and picked up the whining cell phone. Singe had set up a nearly-untraceable rental. God only knew how they go so many bars underground. "Hello," he said cheerily. "You have reached the Vegan Association of Hungary. How may I direct your call?"

Taylor took half a step to the side and Pierce's boot hit the wall instead of his head.

"Hold, please."

.  
.  
.

Taylor slid through the dingy hangings and poked his head inside the lab. If Lucian was still mad, then he had worse things to look forward to than a crummy spoke on the work wheel. After having had a whole day to think about it, he had determined that regardless of the reason; keeping the leader happy was important on many levels, mostly the ones that Taylor didn't want pounded into lycan-flavored pudding mix.

"What makes you think the death dealer won't simply kill him?" Singe asked as he cleaned out an Erlenmeyer flask with a molting tube brush. "New-bitten or not, he's just one more lycan to them."

"He was still human when she saw him first," Lucian was saying, "and – sad to say – the death dealers have enough information on our, ah, 'recruitment practices' to know that's not how we operate." He pulled in a weary breath. "It is possible that Selene won't notice the wound."

"Still, if the candidate dies..."

Selene? Taylor blinked They were giving them names now? Of all the things Taylor'd had to worry about with death dealers, forgetting their names hadn't been one of them. Most lycans seemed to get by with saying, "the one with the short black beard and the throwing stars," "the one with the buzzcut and the submachine gun," or the more versatile, "oh _shit_." As far as Taylor knew, only one vampire had gained any kind of offical nickname.

"Sorry to disturb," Taylor interrupted, nodding to Singe before holding out the phone to Lucian. "Dorkula on line one for you, boss."

Lucian blinked. "What?"

"Kraven's on the phone and he wants to talk to you," Taylor tried again. "He sounds royally pissed off about something."

"Ah," Lucian all but rolled his eyes as Taylor handed over the cell. He lifted it to his ear and snapped out, "This number is for emergencies, cousin. What is it?"

Taylor could just hear the answer, "Don't call me—"

"Would you rather I shouted out 'Hello Kraven, vampire conspirator,' where some human operator might pick up on it?" Lucian went on. "Now why have you called?"

Kraven must not have liked the question. Over the faint electronic whine, Taylor picked up the words, "Lay low ... _she_ ... human."

Lucian's hand went still against the tabletop. "A human?" Taylor could hear Lucian's heartbeat pick up, "And it escaped?" There was a pause. "Yes, the usual place. I will come with more than adequate protection. Now get off this line before someone hears you." Lucian clicked the phone shut and fixed his eyes on Taylor. "Speaking of which..."

Taylor gulped and took a step back. Singe gave a rusted laugh. "Next time you want to eavesdrop," he said, indicating the flask in his hand, "try to look a little busy."

Lucian shook his head. "Don't encourage him, old friend." So much for not getting on Lucian's nerves. "We need to set up another meeting," Lucian stretched his lips in leashed disgust. "It seems our ally among the vampires requires a bit of hand-holding."

"Kraven," Taylor griped. "I know why we had to deal with him and all," he said, "but how can you stand the idea that people think you got offed by a wuss like him?"

"I won't pretend it's easy," said Lucian, with something that might have been amusement.

He shoots. He scores. He gets off the boss' shit list!

"I mean..." he went on, "he spends his life taking care of Viktor's house and cleaning up the guy's messes. What kind of job is that?"

"Long ago," he said. "It was my job."

Fumble...

"Taylor," Lucian said with the barest hint of weariness, "do fetch Raze. I will need him to stand security."

"The big guy does scare the crap out of people, sir," he replied. "You want Pierce and me to come on this one too?"

Lucian stared at him darkly. Singe raised an eyebrow.

Taylor looked away. "Forget I asked."

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

Where to send the blame: drf24 (at) columbia . edu


	3. Parental Warning

I do not own Underworld or its characters or settings. For these, I would like to commend Len Wiseman, Kevin Grivioux, Danny McBride and Wentworth Miller for his powerhouse performance as Adam. Maybe if you work really hard, Mr. Miller, someone will give you a buzzcut, some tattoos and your own show.

REQUEST FROM THE FANAUTHOR:

A few years ago, I found a hilarious document called "Anime Cool Guy Test." It was hysterical. _He can cook +4 points. He's feared by gods -20 points. But not because he's ridiculously over-powered, regain 25 points..._ The other day, I tried to find it again. Google, altavista, it was of no avail.

I long ago saved a copy of "115 Rules for Evil Overlords." If anyone has similarly saved a copy of the Cool Guy Test, then I would greatly appreciate an email.

All criticism of a constructive nature will be welcomed with Chaos Baked Goods signature Dark Magic fudge truffles. Pure evil. With sprinkles.

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

"Well," Taylor muttered over the radio, "we're here."

Pierce's responding glower could have killed every last bacterium in a train station men's room.

Of all the disadvantages of pretending to be a cop, Taylor had begun to hate traveling in pairs the most. Real cops' direct and rather brutal reaction to impostors was also up there on his list, but all this partner crap was getting on his nerves. Taylor eased the cop car into a space and shut off the ignition.

"Finally," grumbled Pierce as the radio died. He looked around at the parking garage. "I don't know how you can listen to that shit. And why didn't you just park at the curb like I told you?"

"This early in the evening? Someone might've noticed," answered Taylor. "The real Officer Krantz was probably supposed to report back sometime last week. If someone sees the license plate, they might realize something's up."

"Fucking costume party," scowled Pierce. "That's how _they_ work."

"_They_ are kicking our ass out here, Stern."

"Quit calling me that."

"I'm _trying_ to stay in character."

"Well knock it off."

"No! We're in enough trouble."

Pierce shook his head. "You're too paranoid. Do you really think he'd send us back here if he thought we were so incompetent?"

"Yes," Taylor shot back. "As far as anyone in this hospital knows, we're the two poor bastards assigned to investigate Raze's little run-in last night. It would look weird if a couple of new guys showed up. The boss _had_ to send us." Taylor sighed. "But if you ask me," he said, sliding out of the car and straightening his cop hat, "he only did it to keep us busy. No way the new mark is going to be dumb enough to come back here."

Pierce chuckled as he shut the passenger side door. "Sheep like to feel safe," he countered. "He'll be back."

Taylor scoffed. "No way in hell."

"You willing to bet your crap factory on that?"

"Uh..." Taylor blinked. "It depends on what that means."

Pierce scoffed. "It means that if the new mark comes back here, you have to quit blasting that damned noise whenever you get behind the wheel."

"That damned noise is the only good metal east of the Channel," Taylor shot back.

"It sounds like someone dropped an A-bomb onto a crap factory," complained Pierce.

"Fine," Taylor swiped both hands between them. "And when we leave here _completely_ empty-handed, you will stop calling me 'runt' immediately and forever."

"I'll just find something new to call you."

"Yes, but it won't be 'runt,' now will it?"

"Well I could call you a--"

"You don't have to tell me."

Pierce shrugged. "Okay."

.  
.  
.

"I don't know what else to tell you, Officers..." the fuzzy-haired intern said, pushing his blocky black glasses a little tighter against the bridge of his nose. "He didn't come in to work today. That's all I know."

"Of course, doctor, but if there's anything else you remember about—"

A light beeping sound touched Taylor's ears and the young doctor checked a message. "Look, I have to take this," apologized Adam. "I shouldn't be too long. If you have any more questions for me..."

"We'll be right here," Pierce answered.

The young human gave them a nod and turned down the bustling hall.

"Can you imagine being that pathetic?" Pierce murmured once the doctor was out of earshot. "Skinny, working with diseases all the time, sniveling at the likes of us?"

"Showering more than once a month, no death dealers on my ass and plenty of girls of my own species around?" Taylor raised an eyebrow. "Sounds like a freaking nightmare." He shook his head. "The kid has a tan, a goddamned _tan_," he wondered out loud. Taylor couldn't remember the last time... Even when he'd worked night shift he'd managed to find an hour here or there to spend in daylight. "We never get to go out. Man, I thought the cousins were the ones who couldn't stand the light."

Pierce turned slowly, frowning. "Why're you calling them that?"

"What?"

"Cousins. Only _he_ calls them that."

Taylor shrugged, pointing his eyes straight ahead. "I don't know..." he said. "Can't use the real name out here, can we?"

Pierce leaned back a bit, folding his arms.

"What?"

"You know he's out of his mind, right?"

Taylor blinked. "Who is?" he ducked his head and spoke in a loud whisper. "The boss?"

"Don't get me wrong," Pierce followed, holding up one hand. "Nobody else could ever take us through this war and come close to winning, nobody. And he's smart, _damned _smart, but that whole speech about wanting scholars and shit?" Pierce went on. "About us acting like dogs?" He shook his head, clamming up as an pair of nurses walked past.

"That wasn't him acting crazy, Stern. That was him acting pissed off."

"That's not what I'm talking about," he said, voice dropping again. "Don't get me wrong, he wants to beat them, but time was... time was he married one."

"I heard..." Taylor trailed off. "How fucked up is that?"

"Still missing the point, runt. You know what the candidate is _for_, right? If you ask me, he wishes he _was_ one."

"You're fucking crazy," Taylor shot back, face heating up. "The boss is a born lycan, a _born_ lycan."

"Keep your damned voice down!" Pierce hissed. "God damn it, you're the one who keeps worrying about getting noticed..."

Taylor gulped and his annoyance clogged his throat. "You shut up about the boss like that."

"When was the last time you saw him change more than partway, runt?" Pierce answered in a loud whisper. "I'll tell you – you never have. He hasn't gone wolf since before _I_ joined up."

"He just likes to keep his cool."

"He's ashamed of it," said Pierce. "That whole civil thing he wants? Where do you think scrubs like us fit in?"

Taylor shook his head. "That's like saying that fighting is the only thing we're good for." He stared off into the busy hallway, something nagging at his mind. "So what do you want out of this, to just keep fighting this war forever?"

"No," Pierce answered at last, "but I'll be damned if anyone thinks I—"

Taylor started, eyes casting down the hall, "I don't think—"

"Damn it, runt, let me finish."

"Yeah, but why—"

"You've got to wise up and quit this hero worship," insisted Pierce. "If you resolve to follow the boss through death and back, then that just might be where you end up."

"Okay, sure," said Taylor, "but why is—"

"Damn it! Can't you stop questioning and just listen for once?" Pierce pulled back. "There's no why to it, runt. I don't understand why he wants what he wants. All I know is that I want to live and that means getting rid of those silver-packing freaks who want to mount my head like a mantelpiece."

Taylor sighed in exasperation, "No, I mean why isn't that geek doctor back yet?"

"Why—huh?" Pierce twisted his neck to watch the hall behind them. "Aw, fuckdammit!"

.  
.  
.

"Mama said there'd be days like this," Taylor muttered, "but she stopped saying it once she got off the speed."

Pierce let out a nervous breath, brushing a bit of broken glass off his sleeve. "Lucian is going to—"

"—kill us?" Taylor nodded. "That would not surprise me."

"Do we really have to—"

"Yes, we have to tell him the new guy was here."

"You realize, runt, that if you'd parked at the curb like I told you, we might have had a chance in hell of following him."

"Yes," Taylor said, nodding.

"And that, by extension, this is all your fucking fault."

"Uh huh." Taylor sat down on the curb, swallowing the clamminess in his mouth. The light from the hospital windows behind them gleamed against the dark street, against the scattered humans moving toward and from the main entrance and the cars moving past.

"Shut up and let me concentrate." Beside him, he could hear Pierce inhale, could picture the older lycan's eyes closing, looking for all the world like any human at this time of night – worn to the bone and stopping for a breath of peace.

"He didn't leave here on foot," Pierce answered.

"You sure?" asked Taylor. "With all these people around, maybe his trail's just mixed in."

"But only one of them stinks of death dealer."

"You can pick that up?"

Pierce shook his head. "If you can't even catch a reek like that on the air, then you're even more hopeless than I thought. He came this way because he he'd have better luck catching a cab out front. The guy's been working here for a year and a half; he probably knows every way out. If he'd been trying to get away on foot, he'd have weaseled out one of those."

"Weasel?" Taylor askd. "I thought humans were sheep."

"This guy's no human." Pierce paused. "Didn't hesistate. He knew we were on his tail and he went through the glass." Pierce shook his head. "No panic; just the escape. That's lycan, bone-deep."

Taylor twisted around to look the other man in the eye. "And you still talk about eating him."

Pierce shrugged. "It's all right if you don't think too hard. Tastes sort of like—"

"Please don't tell me."

"Okay."

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

Where to send the blame: drf24 (at) columbia . edu


	4. Expendable

I do not own Underworld or its characters or settings. For these, I would like to thank Len Wiseman, Danny McBride, Kevin Grivioux and Ildiko Kovacs, for her stirring performance as Michael's Old Girlfriend. We only saw the two snapshots, Ms. Kovacs, but we know there must have been many more!

It has come to my attention that there is some question as to whether Selene or Anna Valerious would win in a fight. After much consideration, I have decided that there is only one mature, objective and logical way to settle the matter, but because of fanfiction (.) net's rules which equate any form of script or play format with "chatspeak," a sizable portion of this file has been REMOVED. If you would like to read it, please visit my page on www ficwadcom or www mediaminer org. I am known as "Ithilwen" on both. The content of the chapter is otherwise identical.

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

Taylor worried the metal band at his wrist. He just wasn't used to the damned thing. Back in his other life, he'd only worn a nine-dollar plastic Swatch. _Some_ days. Decent watch, decent shoes, a shirt that was meant to be tucked in and worn just so... And it wasn't just the uniform. Since learning to control his change, he'd grown accustomed to clothes that could be pulled loose with one hand, shoes that he could rip apart or leave behind, nothing tight on any limb or around his neck. Slip off, cut open or cut the loss. Everything on his skin had to be expendable. These clean, stolen clothes just didn't _fit._

Especially, Taylor realized as he considered his situation, since everything inside his skin was about to get expended itself.

"The boss is going to kill me," he chanted numbly, "I am going to be very dead soon. The boss is going to kill me and I will soon be very dead because the boss is going to kill me and I—"

"Will you shut up?" demanded Pierce.

"Yes, I will shut up," said Taylor, rocking back and forth as he yanked the tarp down over the car. "When Lucian kills me I will be unable to talk or move or breathe or eat cheeseburgers or—"

"Shut up!" Pierce shouted. "Lucian is going to be fucking pissed that we lost the new mark—"

"—Again."

"No, the first time was Raze and therefore not our fault. We weren't even there. Look, you said yourself that he probably only sent us to the hospital to keep us out of trouble."

"I was wrong. I was very wrong and I will be made very dead when Lucian—"

"Dammit, runt!" Pierce grabbed him by the shoulders and pushing him against the half-open scarred metal. "He's going to be fucking pissed off but he is not i _actually_ /i going to kill us."

"Yes he is," Taylor sighed helplessly, stepping up to the door.

"No he's not," answered Pierce. The security system on the abandoned munitions factory might've been decades out of date, wires chewed away by a posse of distressingly confident rats, but the door was still good steel. Pierce raised his fist and pounded once, nodded at the guard through the slitted window and caught the edge as the heavy frame slid open. "Look, runt," he said wearily, "the boss plays it tough and I know he said something about having our heads for lawn ornaments—"

A soft, high-pitched sound keened from Taylor's closed throat.

"—but he doesn't go around killing his own men, so for fuck's sake, _quit with the__—_"

"Umm..." the guard interrupted. "What about when he killed that guy that time for that thing?"

"Wait," Taylor asked in alarm, "what thing? What guy?"

"Oh yeah..." Pierce mused, wincing at the memory. "That was disgusting."

"What was disgusting?" Taylor demanded shrilly.

"Nothing." The older lycan waved one arm dismissively, but Taylor saw an odd twitch in the hollow of his throat. He sniffed experimentally and then swallowed hard. Pierce was sweating, and not because of the cheap-ass hollowfill in the cop jacket.

"Oh," the guard added, "and he asked to see you as soon as you got back."

"What!"

"Aw fuck," muttered Pierce.

.  
.  
.

"Did you learn anything on your return to the hospital?" asked Lucian, turning away from the weapon he was loading. "Has Corvin managed to contact anyone?"

Taylor gulped hard and nodded. Did they really have to have this conversation in the armory? Sure, the boss could probably rip them apart without any help, but all these weapons were giving Taylor's imagination far too many options. He could feel like the twitching in his wrists that this was going to be about as pretty as a forty-five year-old shut-in who thought she still looked good in Spandex. "Yes, boss," he answered.

Lucian's eyebrows shot up expectantly.

"The new mark was already at the hospital when we arrived," Pierce filled in.

All movement in the armory froze. The two guys unpacking the U.V. bullets turned and looked their way. The guy in the back paused on the Uzi he was assembling. Even the dudes playing cards by the coffee machine got way too quiet.

Lucian's eyes grew more intense, still as steady as stones. "So you did find the candidate?"

"Yes, boss." Taylor ducked his chin into nod, trying not to look too much like he was guarding his desiccated throat.

"He was _at_ the hospital?"

"Yes, Lucian," Pierce answered again.

His eyes closed for half a breath. "He got away again," Lucian's voice plucked out each syllable like a tone from a worn-out music box.

"Yes. Went right through the window." Pierce motioned with one hand.

"He got a cab," Taylor volunteered.

"We couldn't track him," added Pierce.

"_Really_ couldn't," Taylor finished quickly. Maybe if they could get him to look at all the extenuating circumstances—

Lucian leaned forward, the tiny crease in his brow growing just a bit darker, "And there were no death dealers this time? No one interfered? He outmaneuvered the two of you without any of our cousins in the way?"

Taylor shook his head, gulping hard. "Yes, boss, he got away on his own."

"Very well..." the lycan master nodded intently. "Carry on."

Taylor had no idea that there was anything in his throat to choke on, but like the resourceful creature he'd had to become, he managed.

"What is it?" Lucian asked sternly. "Help the others prepare and then get some rest."

"Uh..." Taylor stammered, barely feeling Pierce's fist clamp down on his arm. "Thanks?"

"For what?" asked Lucian, turning back to the weapon on the bench in front of him.

"Let's just _go!_" Pierce hissed, pulling at his arm.

"I just—" Taylor gulped. "I just thought you'd be more upset is all."

"Well I won't say I'm pleased..." Lucian trailed off, picking up the clip and fitting it to its socket. "But at this point it's only a matter of time." A thin smile colored his face. "By now, he's one of us. And if you saw him at the hospital, it means he managed to escape from Selene."

From the corner of his eye, Taylor saw Pierce re-mouth the name. He elbowed him lightly in the ribs. "The one with the two Berettas who thinks she's Pat Benatar," he whispered.

"Thanks," Pierce muttered back.

"And tomorrow night," Lucian snapped the clip home, "he's going to become significantly easier to find. It cuts our timeline a bit close," he explained, like an instructor to some dull children, "and there is the risk of ...collateral damage," he picked the word like a nettle from raw skin, "and exposure, but we will find him in time and this plan will move forward."

Taylor's eyes drifted to the floor, a funny feeling humming around the front of his skull. "Uh..." he breathed out. "Unless he goes back, right?"

Pierce's neck twisted his way, "The fuck are you talking about? Back where?"

"Let him speak," Lucian snapped. Taylor looked up. The boss was frowning. That meant he was thinking and thinking meant he wasn't...

"Well..." Taylor's voice felt like slushing gravel in his throat. He coughed but it didn't help. "Well... he still thinks he's human, right? Don't humans like to feel..." He could sense Pierce's eyes on him. "...safe?"

"Yes, probably," Lucian agreed. "Where are you going with this?"

"We trashed his apartment, and then we showed up at his work," Taylor answered hesitantly. "It's a good bet he don't feel safe there any more." He shrugged, pulling his shoulders to his neck. "What if he goes looking for her?"

"Why would he do some stupid shit like that?" demanded Pierce.

"Pierce," Lucian snapped again. "Go on," he said to Taylor.

The boss' face was as harder to read as the subtitles on a French film. "He probably doesn't know what a death dealer is. She sure as fuck wasn't going to tell him." Something was taking shape. "All _we_ know is that she took him home and she didn't hurt him." Taylor finished. "That makes her one up on us," the thought in his head finally came out, and actually sounded something like it was supposed to. The boss blinked hard and Taylor didn't blame him. He was pretty surprised himself.

It was still really quiet.

Taylor licked his lips. "What if he goes looking for her?" he asked. "We don't know why he ran away, if he ran away." The boss still hadn't moved, hadn't looked away, so Taylor had to. "And if you don't know that she's a silver-packing cryogenic bitch, she _is_ sort of hot," he finished. There was a soft murmur of assent from the guys in the back. "So maybe she's two up on us." Taylor finally met Lucian's eyes. "Hell," he said at last, "it's what _I_ would do..."

"Shit-brained stupid," growled Pierce.

"Fuck you," Taylor shot back.

"That's enough," Lucian's voice was sharp, but calm. He looked from him to Pierce and back. "Finish here. Then get some rest," he said again. "I'm sending you out again tomorrow night."

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

A portion of this file has been removed because the ffnet guys seem to believe that all script format is chatspeak.It's their site and they can host or not host whatever they want, but the wording of this particular rule is erroneous and insulting. Please consider the matter for yourself and then write them a polite email if you think it appropriate.


	5. Motivation

I do not own Underworld or its characters or settings. For these, I would like to thank Len Wiseman, Danny McBride, Kevin Grivioux and Wendy Partridge, for making skintight black leather and corsets look arguably functional.

And now we continue our earth-shattering debate...

...but not here. Please see ficwad or mediaminer for more chaos in the arena. This chapter is otherwise identical.

.  
.  
.

"What the fuck was that about, runt?" Pierce demanded. "When Lucian decides not to own your sorry ass, you _leave_ before he changes his mind!"

"Hey," Taylor looked up from what he was doing, "you were the one telling me that he wasn't going to kill us and stuff," he shot back. Hours had passed and he didn't want to think about the exchange in the armory any more. He was back in his normal clothes, thinking what were probably the last normal thoughts he'd have before all hell went out the next night, and he didn't need Pierce reminding him. He didn't know exactly what he'd put together back in the armory, but it was like those damned cop clothes – too straight, too clean and sure to catch him tight around the throat. "And all that stuff about sheep. And for fuck's sake, maybe it _is_ what I would do."

"Well you keep going on about how the new mark isn't the moron like the rest of us," the older lycan snarled back. "When I told you all that shit about sheep, I didn't mean for you to spit it back at him like a..." He frowned, stepping up behind Taylor's chair. "Are you sure Singe doesn't mind you using that thing?" he asked, watching intently over his shoulder.

"Singe isn't the only guy around here who can work a computer," answered Taylor, fingers grazing the makeshift mousepad as he carefully maneuvered the cursor into place. "I never owned one of these myself, but my old high school had a computer lab. Clunkers, mostly, but I got pretty good at 'em. Benefits of a modern education."

"You can put the red six on top of the seven of spades," said Pierce.

"Thanks."

Red six... The black queen was still giving him trouble.

Taylor moved the card into place. Fuck but this thing was hypnotic.

There was a swishing sound as the hangings behind them parted way. Taylor pushed the chair back as swift footsteps moved toward him from behind. "That isn't a toy, gentlemen," said Singe. The footsteps paused as the older lycan scrutinized the grubby monitor, "And you can put the queen of diamonds on top of the black king."

"Thanks."

"You're welcome," he graveled back. "Now what did you say to him?" a weathered voice demanded.

Taylor tore his eyes away from the computer and came face to face with the scowling Singe. At least he was pretty sure the that was scowling. With Singe it could get hard to tell. "Say to who?" he asked.

"To Lucian," the scientist shot back. "He's sending me out to watch the vampires," he answered, "_me_." Singe cast his eyes around the lab and finally yanked hard at a worn black jacket hanging over the back of Taylor's chair. "'Keep a closer eye on our cousins,' he tells me."

"Reminds me of this one time the boss at my old job sent me after the guy who wouldn't come into work." Taylor chuckled. "Man, that guy was an asshole. Never got us shot at, but still, he was an asshole."

Pierce shook his head. "Why do you do that to yourself, runt?"

"What?" Taylor pointed, "if I put the ten over here instead, then I—"

"I mean why do you keep going back to your human life? You talk about it all the fucking time, and that's not even counting what happened last night."

Taylor shrugged. "So?"

"So you can't go back."

"Who said anything about going back?" he asked, maneuvering another card into place. "When something reminds me, sometimes I talk about it. Big deal."

Pierce's voice dropped. "But why torture yourself about it?"

"It's not torture," Taylor answered. He went quiet then, fingers shifting on the oily mouse. His mind drifted through a series of docks and alleyways, of dank parking lots and dusty garages, through shadows that his eyes couldn't penetrate that gave the illusion of boundary where none existed. "My human life sucked," he said. "I didn't lose much of anything when Raze and you guys brought me in. Maybe that's why it doesn't bother me to talk about it."

Singe chuckled. "I'm afraid our friend is right this time." He aimed one crooked finger at Pierce. "You only think that way because you were a young man when you were turned. All of my youth and education took place while I was mortal." Singe paused, "Well, perhaps not _all_ of it..."

"Yeah," Taylor tacked on. "I was human longer than I've been lycan. I talk about things that happened after I joined up, too. I just don't got as much to say yet."

Pierce snorted back. "It was because of that damned mouth of yours that we almost got made the other night."

"_My_ mouth?" Taylor demanded. "If you know what's good for you," he said, "then you won't bring that up."

"Oh..." Singe took a step back. "And could this be the reason for your mysterious duel?"

Taylor swallowed the anger in his throat.

"You bet your ass it is," Pierce answered. "The runt here was telling one of his usual sob stories—"

"I don't have any sob stories, asshole."

"—and I correct one little factual error."

"An _error_?" Taylor twisted again, rising from the chair to smack Pierce on both shoulders. "You can bet your mom's little black book it was an error!"

.  
.  
.

_Taylor sighed in relief as he pulled the boot from his foot. Fuck but the blisters were going to be hell. Since when did Budapest cops have girl feet?_

_"You sure you can hold up this gig, runt?" Pierce was asking._

_Taylor nodded. "I can handle it," he said. "I used to work the docks in crappier gear than this." He shook his head. "That was the worst job I ever took, just loading boxes, sometimes fish. All off the books, and that was when the boss didn't stiff us." The other men were milling around outside the armory. Some turned to listen; others didn't. With no cable, a guy could get away with yapping about any damned thing._

_"The man was a jerk," Taylor went on, a smile cracking his skin. "But there was this cat, just some scabby little thing that used to come. I think it was all those stinking fish guts, but sometimes she'd come and watch us work." He laughed. "My boss fucking hated that cat. Terrified of 'em. Used to yell, throw things. His aim sucked balls, though; little thing always dodged." Pierce was lacing up his shoes, smiling a bit himself. Pierce never smiled at Taylor's stories. He usually said they sucked._

_Taylor chuckled. "My old boss never figured out why she never up and left. Truth was, I used to sneak out back after work and feed her."_

_"Yeah..." murmured Pierce. "But couldn't you have fed her a bit more? She was all gamy."_

_Taylor's hand froze on the boot lace._

.  
.  
.

"You overreacted."

"You ate my fucking cat, asshole!"

"It wasn't your cat!" Pierce protested.

"The hell she wasn't!"

Singe shook his head, "Never mind," he said. "I think I understand what happened." He swung the scuffed coat over his thin shoulders. "And that's quite enough of that," he said, leaning forward to lay one stiff finger on the power strip.

Taylor stifled a grumble as the perfect game on the monitor shrank to a pale dot and winked out. "I know Raze is busy," he asked, "but why's the boss sending you out?" Taylor asked. "No offense, man, but I didn't think recon was your thing."

Singe's eyebrows tweaked behind his glasses. "He did say something about not being able to afford any more foul-ups," he answered succinctly. "That probably had something to do with it."

Pierce elbowed Taylor hard in the ribs as Singe left the room. Taylor swatted him away.

.  
.  
.

Taylor's fingers drummed on the dashboard.

"Stop that," growled Pierce.

"Let me turn my music back on."

"No. You lost."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did," insisted Pierce. "The mark showed up at the hospital like I said he would."

"And we left empty-handed like I said we would." Taylor glummed back.

"Semantics."

"Whatever," Taylor muttered, staring out through the windshield. It had been threatening to rain all night and as much as he wanted to, he couldn't call the bluff. "You should at least stop calling me 'runt,'" he complained.

"Guard duty," Pierce grumbled. "I have to admit, I'm surprised he's sending us back out at all after that stunt you pulled."

"That I pulled?" Taylor protested halfheartedly. He just wasn't in the mood for fighting, tonight of all nights. "Do you ever think..." Taylor hesitated. Dammit, this was why he liked to play music. His mind got stupid when it got bored and kept wanting to talk about things that would make Pierce hit him. "Do you ever think it's wrong?"

"What is?"

"Like with the other candidate," Taylor nodded his head to the side.

"It wasn't as if we could've let him leave. The vampires would've found him and then us." Pierce shrugged. "And once he was dead, there was no sense letting food go to waste."

"That's one way to look at it," Taylor commented.

"Thanks to Viktor, it's been the only way to look at it."

Taylor sighed. "I guess you're right." He studied the creases in the steering wheel, "But sometimes I wonder. We do go after humans a lot more than they do."

"That we know of," Pierce corrected. "It's a war. Discretion is a luxury that we cannot always afford."

Taylor turned toward him, frowning, "Did the boss say that?"

"Him or a Steven Segal movie," answered Pierce. I'm not sure where I got it."

"Eh, _Under Siege_ was his only good one." Taylor griped. His eyes trailed out over the alleyway. Singe had said to just drive around in circles until he gave contact. Taylor shook his head. Any moron could see that nothing was going on around here. "I almost feel sorry for her," he said quietly.

"For who?" asked Pierce.

"The death dealer who stole the new guy," he answered. "I'm pretty sure she's the one that Dorkula's been carrying on about." He shook his head. "She must secrete loser pheromones or something. I'd have terminal PMS too if I had him trying to hump my leg every time I turned around."

Pierce grunted. "She deserves that and worse. Fuck knows why she let new mark live," he wondered out loud. "She's spent the past couple centuries training to do exactly one thing."

"Yeah," Taylor scraped his thumb across the steering wheel. Pierce gave his hand a swat.. "And it i'n' makin' tiramisu. Gotta admit, though. She's kind of—"

"What is with you calling the death dealer hot?" Pierce asked.

Taylor raised one eyebrow. "Come on. If you saw her and you did _not_ know that she was a death dealer—"

"I'd have a fucking wad of silver in my gut."

"—but she's all right, otherwise," Taylor's voice dropped. The truth be told, he could see where Pierce was coming from. After all, smart money – not to mention Raze – said that she was the one to send Trix on his way, and the thought of a brother lycan – even one with Trix's celebrated opinions on bathing – lying there helpless didn't do anything to fluff up the old ...male ego. Fortunately, Taylor had a bit of a knack for separating a mental image from its context. He suspected it had something to do with the time that had elapsed since his last womanly encounter. While he might not be a fan of the death dealer's Ag rounds, all her other rounds were a separate issue. Anyone with that body should be called hot.

...or maybe the death dealer's body but the face of that Sarah Gellar girl...

"That skinny bitch? Of course not." Pierce interrupted Taylor's visualization session. "No meat on her bones."

Taylor shook his head, "Dammit, man! Not every situation requires you to eat someone."

"It's a figure of speech, dickhead. You're just too young to remember."

"Remember what?"

Pierce laughed, a real laugh this time, with no mockery and sarcasm levels well below the legal limit. "Lycan women!" he breathed out, one hand palming the air behind the windshield.

"What was so special about them?" Taylor asked. He turned, frowning. "And why don't we have any anymore?"

"Death dealers picked them off, didn't they?" Pierce answered, resting his head back against the seat. "Didn't want us to breed."

"It worked," Taylor answered sullenly.

"They weren't like the humans you see walking around. Didn't wear makeup or fancy clothes," the older lycan went on. "...as a matter of fact that was part of the appeal. And do you know those 'bra' things that women started wearing a few years ago?"

"Uh... I think it was like ninety years ago."

"It can't have been that long."

"No, no, no..." Taylor tore his eyes from the road, turning to face the other man. "While there are some American patents dating back to the 1850's, it wasn't until World War I, when a combination of women taking up factory work and the need to conserve metal caused the corset to give way to other garments allowing a freer range of movement. However, it was arguably with the founding of Maidenform in 1928 that we began to see the standardized cup sizes and styles that now embody the..." Taylor faltered. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Rain spattered against the hood of the car.

"The hell...?" asked Pierce.

Taylor felt his face get hot. "It was on the fucking History Channel!"

"Figures," Pierce scoffed. "You focus too much on modern frippery. The real woman's what's underneath."

Taylor clicked back into his window. "It's been too long since I had any kind of woman underneath. I know the boss doesn't want to—"

"And you'd better not bring it up," Pierce said seriously. "It's a sore spot for him. You know how he is about things like that."

"But it doesn't have to be_ like that_." The light turned red and Taylor's pulled the car to a stop. "It's not the medieval ages anymore. He'll let us chow down on human flesh, but he won't let us date?"

"You're missing the point again, runt," Pierce sat up, eyes fixed on the road. "It's about staying alive. Everything's about staying alive. You turn left here."

"I know," Taylor grumbled.

"You visit a human woman in her world, the death dealers catch you and kill you," Pierce recited. "You bring a human woman to the den and then let her come and go, the death dealers catch her and make her tell where we are. You bring a human woman and don't let her go, well..." Pierce's teeth clicked.

"I know..." the words left Taylor slowly. "I know. You're right." His shoulders rose and fell. "Nobody asked me if I wanted to get turned, but then, nobody asked me to be Raze's girlfriend either."

"No, we just toss you new guys to the death dealers instead." Pierce's voice was oddly quiet.

"Not that that was fun either." The light changed and Taylor stepped on the gas, "So if I take the death dealers out of the equation, I get to talk to girls?"

Pierce laughed, his same half-grunting laugh again. "You going to win this war yourself, runt?"

"Or spend eternity with you? Hell yes." Taylor let the wheel spin back. "I'll call it my motivation." His thoughts soured. "I guess it's just as well you guys don't turn women the way you said. Modern chicks wouldn't go for that."

"What do you mean?" asked Pierce.

"I mean I had enough trouble when one of my girlfriends from back in the day got pissed off at me, and _they_ only had regular teeth."

Taylor was able to hold the smile back just a bit, until he could spare a sideways glance at Pierce. To his surprise, the older lycan actually looked confused.

"Oh hell," Taylor swore, "and I thought it'd been too long since _I_ got any play!"

Pierce's eyes went wide and he rose up in his seat. "If that's where you spend all your thoughts, no wonder we couldn't catch one new-bitten bastard."

Taylor held in a growl. "Right. We didn't catch him." He reached for the radio.

The older lycan swatted his hand away. "You lost."

"I did not."

"Fine." Pierce graveled back. "We'll make a new bet, then. I'll let you lose all over again. Then will you quit whining?"

"Whatever," Taylor shot back.

"If we don't catch the new mark, then you can—"

"No," Taylor shook his head, "no, I want to bet on us this time."

"Why?" Pierce asked suspiciously. "The odd are better if you bet against."

"Yeah, but if I bet against and we don't catch the mark, then the boss can't do the plan," he answered. "You can't trick me. I want the one where I win if we're still alive."

"Fine," Pierce growled. "If the new mark drops out of the sky in front of us, then you can turn your fucking crap music back on."

"Hey, no messing with it," Taylor answered, turning another corner. "If it's a real bet, then it has to actually be possible for me to—"

There was a muffled buzz of gunfire and the glittering cackle of breaking glass. Half a block away, something dark flailed and righted itself in the five stories between the window and the ground.

The world went very quiet. The shadow on the pavement stared at its hands.

"No way," breathed Taylor.

"What the fuck?" demanded Pierce.

"I think I'm going to like working with this guy," Taylor said quickly.

"Shut up and stop the car, runt!" Pierce snarled, slipping out of his seat belt.

"No more calling me runt!"

.  
.  
.

drf24 columbia . edu


	6. Another Moon

I do not own Underworld or its characters or settings. For these, I would like to thank Len Wiseman, Danny McBride, Kevin Grivioux and Hank Amos and Sándor Bolla, for dying in the first ten minutes just to prove that the situation is serious. You get the red shirt of courage!

And now we continue our earth-shattering debate...

(the fight resumes ...but not here. As per fanfiction . net's policy on script format, this portion of the file is available on mediaminer, ficwad . com and newly added to Unnatural Selection. Go check out this elite Underworld story site:http/ underworld . toomanythoughts . net / )

EDIT:This chapter is being re-uploaded because it seems that some of the words have been eaten.

.

.

.

.

All told, it took maybe ninety seconds.

Recruitment was too easy a word for it, Taylor realized as his boot hit the wet pavement. The boss kept giving things clean names: "candidates," "cousins," "recruitment practices." It made everything sound official. It made it sound like a signed contract and a salute, like a letter home to Mom every week. Maybe Pierce was right. Maybe Lucian did wish he was one of the other guys, the way he kept dressing it up decent. No matter which way Taylor cut it, though, clubbing a guy on the head and dragging him into a cop car wasn't any kind of civilized.

...not that it was that simple.

They were out of the car before the parking brake kicked in, way before the new mark had a chance to react. Taylor caught a split-second eyeful of a pair of pale eyes framed by stringy hair. Then his skull and shoulder blades cracked against the wall, jaw stinging from a jerky right hook. So much for him thinking they were the real police, here to help and shit.

He recovered quickly, snagging the young man around the upper arm and pushing him hard into the car. The new guy pulled nearly free and tried to throw a punch at Pierce, which didn't surprise Taylor.

The younger lycan blinked as Pierce's head snapped back. _Shit..._

This kid didn't have the first idea how to fight, and he'd—

"Hold still, dammit!" Pierce was already back on the job.

"Let the fuck go of me!" the new guy's voice was half-gone, with just the beginning of something else buried in a human throat. Taylor registered an American accent before he came back to himself and dragged the kid headfirst into the back of the car.

Human-fleshed fingers found the steel doorframe and clamped down, making metal squeal.

Taylor's feet stilled on the alleyway floor.

This was only the new mark's second night as a lycan. Full moon or not, there was no way, _no way_, he was up to full strength. Taylor swallowed hard. _I thought only the old guys were supposed to be able to do that. God knows I never—_

"What in hell are you waiting for, runt?" Pierce demanded, trying to keep the new guy's arm locked behind his back. "This harder than it— Oh forget it." There was a sickening crunch as the mark's head met the side of the car. His struggles went limp and he slid into the backseat without any other fuss. Recruitment was definitely too gentle a word for it.

Automatic weapons fired, five stories overhead.

Even so.

He'd left the engine running, keys in the ignition. Pierce slammed the rear door shut and all but leapt into place on the passenger side.

He shot a look up at the broken window and then behind him at the new guy. "You are better off with us, _believe_ me." And then he shifted into drive and squeezed down on the gas. There was a squeal of wet rubber, and the alley opened up to let them out.

.

.

.

It didn't take the new mark long to figure out that there wasn't any getting loose and stop struggling. That or Pierce had hit him too hard. It was just as well, Taylor thought. They already knew that he could jump through glass when duly motivated. He took his eyes off the road long enough to peer over his shoulder.

Fuck but he didn't look like much. Another scruffy son of a bitch like the rest of them.

Pierce's narrow eyes were also appraising the bedraggled soon-to-be-bottom-of-the-lycan-pecking-order, but with a very different question behind them, as Taylor quickly realized when the new guy's neck seized up and his ragged breathing shifted into gasps.

There had been another night and another moon. Suddenly it didn't seem like so long ago.

Taylor pushed that thought away in favor of wondering how strong the bars were and how long the kid could hold out, whether those marks on the door were a trick of leverage or the light.

Pierce gave a snort. "Okay, mister benefits-of-a-modern-education, do you think we should pull over and dose him?"

"Fuck it," Taylor answered immediately. "We're almost there." He leaned back, hooking one elbow past his seat. "The first time hurts like a bitch, but soon you'll be changing whenever you want, moon won't make a shit bit of difference."

Taylor interpreted the next exasperated pant as one of gratitude.

"Don't get too attached," cautioned Pierce. "Smart money still says this one ends up on cafeteria menu."

"Don't talk like that right in front of him," Taylor protested. "What if he doesn't die? You want him to be out to kick your ass once he joins up?"

"You never managed it, runt." Pierce frowned. "Why are you being so fucking nice to some rat in its cage back there?"

A smirk crept across his round face. "Let's just say I'm in a good mood," he answered. "Hey new guy," he asked, eyes still on Pierce as his fingers found the radio dial, "do you listen to crap factory?"

The light changed and he blasted out of there like the hardcore wail from the speakers. The mark still didn't sound too comfortable, but at least he wasn't the only damned thing to listen to anymore. If Taylor hadn't been driving, he'd have let his eyes close. This blaring music drowned out the racing heartbeat of the man behind him, the uneven scatter of the rain, the sonic overload from the city outside. Why the hell didn't Pierce _thank_ him for finding this stuff? Even the doubts in his head were finally taking a break.

And it made Pierce talk less. That was also a nice fringe benefit.

The guy in the back seat was still in a bad way. The smirk on Taylor's face was still there even though Pierce had stopped grumbling about the music. After all, the new guy had clipped him one, and it was perfectly okay to feel inhospitable toward someone who clips a guy one. Taylor tipped his jaw. Fucking strong, too. _Fucking_ strong. Taylor guessed that that might actually mean there was something to this candidate business after all. At least then he'd get to think that it hadn't been a regular new-bitten who'd nearly taken him out ...even if he had passed medical school.

He felt his smile sour. It had been fun making fun of Pierce with it, but now that the dude was actually there, flesh and blood and breath behind bars that wouldn't hold...

_Time to face it: this guy is strong and rare and probably smarter than me. _Taylor leaned his head back against the headrest and sniffed twice. _And he gets to shower more_.

Pierce was a rock, but even though it had been years, _years_, since Taylor'd really lost control, he couldn't help a little shiver when they drove out of the shadows and hit the moonlight. He swallowed the sudden wetness in his mouth. The boss could take fancy words over this? It was like... It was like he remembered that there was more than meat inside his skin. Like he remembered that he was something strong, and that he was never going back to—

Taylor's mind snapped clean as the new guy's wordless voice grow more frantic, like a cat that was being held too hard. His foot was on the brake before Pierce even drew the breath in.

"Shit, he's not going to make it. Pull over!"

Taylor could dimly remember that other moon, over another city, and being on the other end of something with too clean a name. He felt his feet touch ground and yanked open the passenger door in time to see Pierce get kicked into a stack of garbage cans. What if this guy didn't think his human life sucked? What if this guy had more than a starving stray to regret? What if—

What if Lucian never got the plan to work, and this wild thing inside him was gone forever? What if every guy who was never good enough for anything just stayed walking under the table at the dock like some kind of asphalt treadmill with no one to drag them off kicking and screaming?

Taylor's elbows locked around the kid's arms. He ducked his head, keeping his neck clear of teeth eerily jagged to be first-change as Pierce pulled out a needle far too thick to be fit for anything that walked on two legs.

"It's about staying alive," he whispered. "Everything's about staying alive."

.

.

drf24 columbia . edu


	7. Attachment

I do not own Underworld or its characters or settings. For these, I would like to thank Len Wiseman, Danny McBride, Kevin Grivioux and Magda Habernickel, dialogue editor. The next time a movie has major exposition delivered by a character with a thick Austrian accent and a painful shoulder wound, we will all know whom to request.

Tune in to ficwad . com, mediaminer . org, or toomanythoughts (Unnatural Selection) for the anticlimactic conclusion of Selene vs. Anna V.

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

"Don't get too attached to him, runt," said Pierce, swinging the passenger door shut. "He's not going to last long."

"I don't know," Taylor answered at last. One of his hands left the wheel long enough to rub the side of his head. Bruising had gone the way of his fear of balding and ability to digest bread, but old habits died hard. "Lucian's probably going to keep him back at base camp during the attack, but after he's had a chance to learn the ropes, I think this guy could hold his own."

"True," Pierce allowed, "but that isn't what I meant."

Taylor all but pulled over. "Dammit, Pierce!" he fumed. "The boss said that this guy was important for the war. I don't know what the fuck that means, but he was pretty clear about _no eating him!_"

"Well not before we make it back," Pierce protested.

"Pierce, if you get us in trouble again—"

"Can it and drive!"

.  
.  
.

"Fuck! This guy is heavy."

"Shut up and bring him, runt."

"I don't see why I should have to drag him," Taylor complained, shifting his grip on the inert medical intern's black T-shirt. The less-than-Prada material stretched and snagged as the new mark slid heavily across the dank tiles. "After all, you were the one who—"

"Maybe if you spend less time whining and more time walking, we'll actually get him to Singe before the vampires finish their Awakening and we have to wait another hundred years."

"Yeah, whatever..." Taylor sulked. Still, it was the cheerful kind of sulking. The kind that a guy did when he was suddenly filled with renewed confidence. Lucian and Pierce hadn't been able to speak freely over the radio in the cop car, but Taylor had certainly gotten the gist that if anyone was going to give him a sterling silver body piercing in the next six hours, it wouldn't be the boss.

Taylor exhaled hard. "Did I fight that hard when you and Raze brought me in?"

Pierce shot him a look. "Are you kidding? You went as limp as a day-old halibut. We thought you were dead."

"Oh." Taylor pointed his eyes straight ahead and ran a stop sign. "Well—" He closed his mouth. "I don't really remember, I guess..."

"It turned out you just fainted or something," Pierce went on. He sighed. "And I'd been hungry that night, too."

"You..." Taylor paused, eyes crossing. "...wait."

A dark chuckle broke out next to him. "For fuck's sake, runt!" One of Pierce's palms rapped the wall. "I'm messing with you. You were as hard to bring in as the next guy." He rubbed his jaw in the place where the bruise had formed and faded by the time they'd ditched the cop car. "Well maybe not this next guy, but respectable enough. Jesus, I just tell you half that stuff for the look on your face."

Taylor narrowed his eyes. "How often do you do that?" he demanded.

A new voice swallowed Pierce's answer. "Holy fucking mama of Christ!" Taylor looked up to see the door guard from the previous night, half-assembled Uzi half-forgotten on his fingers. "Is that the guy?"

Behind his shoulder, Taylor felt Pierce's look from the new guy to their packmate and back. "The one he wanted," he supplied.

The guard nodded. "Fucking amazing."

"Fucking heavy," answered Taylor. "I haven't seen any of the other guys from the raid. Is Singe back yet?"

The guard tore his eyes from the new mark to Taylor with no effort at all. Something in those eyes told him that he'd either said something very good or very bad. "What?" he asked, the air turning heavy in his lungs. "Don't tell me the old guy didn't make it back."

The guard put his eyes back where they belonged. The magazine slammed hard into place. "Didn't anybody make it back."

Taylor's posture was still in half-crouch, fingers aching in the suddenly clammy cloth of the new guy's shirt. "No way."

"We fucking sent six men with him," Pierce answered in doubt. "No one dealer's that good, not with those odds."

The younger lycan felt his neck move, felt his head nod.

"We still got enough to do this, maybe." The guard tested the sight along his weapon. "If we're lucky, they still don't know we're coming."

Taylor shifted his grip against the new mark's shirt.

"Tell the boss we have the candidate."

.  
.  
.

What was so special about this guy anyway?

Under other circumstances, that might have been a rhetorical question.

Taylor had never gone recruiting before, but he was pretty sure that mainlining a shot glass of wolfsbane enzyme was supposed to put a guy out of commission for more than half an hour. This mark was already twitching behind his restraints as Taylor watched from the doorway. The boss'd told Pierce to stick around and help – with what he still wasn't sure – but he hadn't said anything one way or the other to Taylor, so he'd stayed to watch.

Lucian's feet touched and left the laboratory floor, eyes full of purpose as he handed Pierce a syringe. Only a touch of nervousness lent its sickened intensity to his steps.

There was something about this Corvin guy, and Taylor wanted to know what it was. He was pretty strong, but so was Raze. Hell, so was Taylor on a good night. From the start the boss had treated Michael like some pet project. There had been no talk of bringing the other candidates into the clan – except in the Pierce sense of the expression – and Lucian had gone and turned this guy himself. Why did he get to be a brother all of a sudden? Lucian had mentioned a lycan civilization. This kid doctor sounded like exactly the sort of person who could help pull that off. Was that why the boss had wanted him? Taylor felt his thoughts sour. Scholars and scientists. Pierce had a point. Guys like them didn't fit into that too well.

From what little Singe had long-sufferingly explained to him (probably using more small words than he'd really needed), this kid had something special in his blood, the enzymatic end result of the rarest kind of gene that would let a guy get bitten by a wolf and a vampire at the same time and not die.

And the boss wanted it. Taylor quickly rethought his jealousy. If Lucian had needed more than Michael's blood, needed his heart or his guts to make the plan work...

He'd have done it. He'd have picked his men over a stranger – even an innocent stranger – and kept the lycan race alive. Maybe he wouldn't have been doing it for his thuggish, expendable soldiers, but he'd have done it.

He could see it, but he couldn't tell what it was. It was in his eyes, in his skin, under his fingernails, slipped in his scent, Taylor realized as Pierce held the kid's arm down to get a blood sample. Lucian had made a good call on this one.

Metal broke skin and a thick growl welled up from the mark's unchanged throat and he pulled his arm just free enough to give Pierce a good whack on the coconut. He barely flinched when Pierce hit him back. Taylor stifled a snort. Fuck immortal genes. It would be worth having the kid around just for this.

"That's enough!" Lucian barked. "Just ...go and see what's keeping Raze, would you?"

Taylor was still chortling when Pierce sulked back out into the hallway. "Shut up..." muttered the older lycan.

"I didn't say anything."

"Fucking keep it that way."

"You've been given an enzyme to stop the change," Taylor overheard the boss tell the new guy as he and Pierce hurried off. "It may take some time for the ...grogginess to dissipate."

Taylor held in a snort. "Because _someone_ hit him over the head with a two-by-four."

"Can it runt," growled Pierce.

"No, and stop calling me that," he snapped. "Do you even know my real name?"

Pierce paused. "Shut up," he said at last.

"You don't, do you?" Taylor sulked. "Don't mind me. I'm just worried about Singe, I guess."

Pierce snorted. "What's to worry about? He's dead."

"Don't talk like that! It's not like we know."

Pierce stopped in his track. "Either the death dealer killed him then and there," he explained heatedly, "or she took him prisoner. If you want to worry about something, worry about how much he told her."

"You don't give a damn about him at all, do you?" Taylor asked.

"Did you think no one was going to die in this, runt?" Pierce asked, his usual gruffness coming from too deep in his throat.

"I did. I just—"

"Did you think he'd live forever?"

"It's not like I thought he was immortal or—" Taylor flinched, neck and shoulders pulling his chin to his collarbone. "Damn it, but they shouldn't call us that. I thought he was _smart!_" Taylor admitted. "I thought he was smarter than any of us."

"Who's to say he wasn't?" Pierce asked. "Smart doesn't mean you can't die out here, runt."

"That's not what I mean," Taylor answered. He swallowed the uncertainty in his mouth. "He was smart..." he tried again. "He was a scholar and a scientist," the words came in slow steps, one and then the other, "but he doesn't act like scrubs like us—like fighting is all we're good for." He looked up, one hand feeling the air between him and Pierce. "The boss has his fancy ideas, but Singe lets us know where we stand. And he's a good man for that."

Something moved in Pierce's face, but Taylor couldn't tell what it was. He couldn't tell much of anything, it seemed.

"Save it for the funeral, runt."

"We don't have funerals," Taylor reminded him as they headed out to look for Raze.

"I didn't kill the cat."

Taylor looked up, brow creasing.

"That damned stray you got so worked up about," Pierce allowed. "I never even saw it. I didn't know about it until you started yapping."

"Then what did—" Taylor's blood went hot and cold at the same time. "You didn't—"

"No," Pierce answered. "Never did." He shrugged. "Who likes the taste anyway?"

Hot, cold and slow. "So why are you—" his brain finally caught up to his blood. "Fuck, Pierce. If you're going to talk like we're both about to die, then could you at least promise to stop calling me—"

"No."

.  
.  
.

"Please escort our 'guests' downstairs."

Dorkula did not look pleased. This by itself was not a problem, but the boss didn't look pleased either. Taylor figured it would be a good idea to hold his position, glare imposingly at Kraven's guards and keep his damned mouth shut. Kraven exhaled nervously and ran one ringed hand through hair so greasy that Taylor'd swear that's why the rings shone. Why anyone with access to clean water would go that long without washing his hair was beyond him.

Taylor tried to keep from wrinkling his nose as he brought up the rear. It seemed that Kraven's hirelings shared their boss's opinions on regular bathing. Not for the first time, Taylor realized that not everything about his new sensory system was fun.

One of Kraven's men shot him a glowering look over his shoulder. Taylor kept his face steely and held the pace. Hell, it was a kick being this close to a real vampire warrior, almost a death dealer, who couldn't do shit about it. The Uzi in his grip was a definite comfort. He noted with a touch of pride that his hands weren't shaking.

Something was going down tonight. Something big. Something that involved a vampire so strong that the boss had wanted to take him out while he was still asleep. Taylor kept his eyes on the gooey-headed blood in front of him, but he let himself take in Pierce and the others from the edges of his vision. Murphy'd laughed at his jokes most of the time. Switch played things close to the chest, but he was a good guy, really.

How well did he know any of them?

That was what his whole life had had in common, Taylor realized. That was what Pierce had been talking about. He'd never been important to anyone.

A new-bitten lycan had a low life expectancy, and that was just the way things were. It didn't make any damned sense to get too attached, and Pierce must have learned that a long time ago. Taylor had heard something in a martial arts movie about that Buddha guy saying having no attachments kept people from being miserable, but from where Taylor was standing, it seemed to suck ass.

Even here in the clan, keeping a safe distance was the only way to go (especially when a guy was still working on controlling his change). Lucian had treated him like another good solider ...well, another soldier. Singe had tolerated all his stupid questions. Pierce didn't bother to remember his name, but his bitching was at least nominally geared toward helping him stay alive. Taylor had never had a situation in which the other guys could afford to get attached to him more than just a little, but the lycan clan came damned close. But not in the gay way because he totally wasn't into that.

Taylor almost bumped into Pierce as the older lycan stopped short. He frowned, mentally rechecking the placement of his hands on his weapon.

The scent reached his nose. Leather. Gun oil. Kraven's personal police force had those things too, but this was something different. If there was one thing a lycan solider came to learn, it was that not every kickass fighter knew shit about military uniformity.

More importantly, it was coming from the wrong direction.

"Exit shaft!" bellowed Pierce. "Move it!"

Whatever problem he might have had with the guy personally, Taylor wasn't about to turn down a good idea just because it came from the other end of an asshole. He and Switch forced the door shut behind them and twisted the bolt into place. Kraven's handpicked thugs hadn't been above turning on the coven and sure as fuck didn't seem like the sort who'd be too good to shoot a hardworking lycan in the back to distract the death dealers.

Taylor and Pierce exchanged a glance. Fuck attachment; he could tell what the other guy was thinking. Make it up the shaft. Come around. Get at them from the other side and for the love of all that's holy don't drop your fucking gun.

There was eating the food they ate. There was stealing cars and uniforms. There was kidnapping a dozen decent strangers and using them for parts. They'd done all those things to stay alive. Taylor'd had the hard and heavy end of the stick his whole life. He knew all about accepting that the world could be a pile of shit sometimes and walking through it anyway, but that wasn't the end of it. A guy didn't have to be a scholar or a scientist to know that it was okay to give more than a passing damn when a good man finished things up, even if he hadn't been all that good.

Maybe that was it.

They could still come out of this, Taylor realized as Murph hauled the shaft door open. Mildew and stagnant water choked his senses, but he dove right in, putting his fingers to the grimy bars. Taylor had a brief flashback of trying to climb that damned rope in gym class. He was twelve feet from the bottom by the time it passed. Not everyone was going to make it. Pierce had just been right about that. It was about proving Singe right. It was about proving Lucian right. It was about being a lycan in a way that was worth more than one breath and then another.

A warrior in civilization.

It seemed like a plan.

There was a sound at the other end of the shaft, and a flash of something fistlike and metallic falling past him.

Taylor's senses froze. He didn't know how he could yell the right warning before figuring out what it was, but the words left his throat all the same.

"Silver grenade!"

"Oh shit," breathed Pierce.

.  
.  
.

.  
.  
.

drf24 () columbia . edu


	8. Lives

I would like to thank Len Wiseman, Kevin Grevioux, Danny McBride and everyone who worked on _Van Hellsing_ for making _Underworld: Evolution_ look subtle and classy. I would also like to thank Mike Mukakis and Paul Cetrone and all m'buds down on Bloodfeud, particularly Terra for the use of Jonah.

I want to thank one grrl who lies her size-eights off for keeping me from going too overboard with the fandom.

This chapter is dedicated to one man who only lied about his age. Even an honorable act can be hard to carry. Good luck in all things.

Please see mediaminer, ficwad or fichaven for my response to Heatherly's comment.

(bows to Funky Nassau)

_.  
.  
._

_.  
.  
._

_My name is Taylor and a few hours ago, I kidnapped a man. I've killed enemy soldiers and I've killed people I didn't know. Theft and brutality were the least of it. They will never leave me now. I did these things because I believed that I and others like me would die if I did not. I became these things because I believed that what I am is worth keeping in the world. _

_I was right. _

_I still don't know how a guy goes about living with it._

The grenade hit the water and bounced once.

_Ah well._

Dying came easily to a new lycan, especially when there were so many people eager to help.

The silver dosage wasn't an issue in itself. Bullets could be cast or coated with silver of a high enough grade to cause some problems, but the kinds of things that ended up in a silver grenade, the shapes and shavings hissing outward with the force of the explosion could do the kind of damage that made content irrelevant. Where bullets pierced, grenades pulped.

Being within fifteen feet of a detonation hurt like hell wrapped in barbed wire, but not for very long. In theory, the brain can survive about ten minutes without bloodflow, such as when the heart has stopped beating or is no longer intact, but the victim is conscious for very little of that time. For an immortal, however, anything big enough to stop a heart or evict it from its place of business would probably cause more than a little trouble in the rest of the neighborhood. Brain death brings silence. First the senses go, and then the memories and finally the self. Gone completely or just gone where no one from the would could reach it, it was impossible to say. This would happen regardless of intellect or history or courage or even the state of just having figured out what to do with himself.

There were certainly worse times for a guy to go.

One half-clawed hand wound against the ladder and pulled.

He would probably find one.

_.  
.  
._

There was a gun in his hand. He was in the upper tunnels and there was a gun in his hand.

Taylor didn't remember how he'd gotten out of the exit shaft, but he hovered, knees to sopping concrete, staring up at the dank, forgiving walls as his nails shifted and his ribs cracked back down to human size.

A flake of silver drifted to the floor, still hissing, _When was the last time you saw him change more than partway, runt?_ The boss only changed to push out the silver. He'd only changed to push out the silver. Taylor swallowed, expecting a metallic taste in his mouth. Nothing.

There was a gun in his hand. He didn't remember how he'd gotten to the upper tunnels, but _Pierce and the others _nobody else had been in few enough pieces to do more than twitch and there was a gun in his hand.

Taylor's mind began to clear. This was it. This was the night the boss had been planning for and everything had gone to hell. There were vampires in the lair – a whole fucking scout troop of them – and they'd just killed Pierce and God knew who else and there was still enough fear in his veins to crack open every bone in his body and wring them together new.

There was a sound echoing in the concrete maze, boots on concrete. His thinking got a lot less fuzzy and a lot more relevant when he realized that whoever'd thrown that grenade couldn't be too far off. A different kind of throbbing seeped into his blood. Right now he needed his wits about him. He was lycan. Transformed, he was more than strong enough to take on a vampire hand-to-hand, Ag rounds or no Ag rounds, but there had to be – the stale air went through his nose, his skin, his brain – four, at least. No one could dodge that many bullets. As satisfying as it might have been to feel a vampire's skull crunch like an eggshell between his jaws, Taylor was better off with hands that could pull a trigger.

The other guys had gotten blasted for nothing in the exit shaft. The person who'd done it was nearby and probably thought there was no one behind him. Taylor was probably going to find a way to die that night. And there was a gun in his hand.

He knew what he wanted to do about it, and with the plan shot to pieces, he might as well. Taylor took a breath and checked the clip.

There was a gun in his hand with no goddamned bullets.

"Fuck it," he whispered. Eggshells it was.

_.  
.  
._

The old guys could do it without any trouble. Raze was the master, changing from man to beast and back like water into ice, scary as hell but in perfect control the whole time. The boss... Well, no one really knew about the boss. No one who was talking, anyway.

For Taylor, it was still new. Keeping the wolf on its leash took some practice and usually some screwups, but getting it to come when it was called was something else.

_Channeled rage_, he'd heard the boss say years back. _Know when to release your anger and when to restrain it. That is what separates man from mongrel_. He'd sounded like Obi-wan after practicing mind tricks out in the desert too long, but it got the idea across. Lord knew Taylor didn't have any shortage of sucky memories. Still, the change back in the cop diner had probably been his best one.

He pulled in a shaky breath. He could feel the shivering disk of the moon overhead, through the rock and through the steel. It was a help. Aside from that... The closest thing he'd had to a best bud since high school was plastered to the sides of the exit shaft along with five other guys in assorted states of creamy and chunky. The rest was easy.

A shiver like a diamond winter dawn ran through Taylor's body. There was a reason why he loved it.

The wolf had come at the midnight of Taylor's pathetic life and taken him away. In the stories, that was always the end of a guy. But for Taylor, "away" didn't mean nowhere. He'd already been nowhere, and away was a step up.

Taylor pulled his shirt loose with one hand, slipped it off and tossed it behind him, kicking off his shoes as he went. Everything on his skin was expendable. Maybe everything inside too.

There was a secret to it.

The first time the change had hit him he'd screamed like a cat with her tail on fire, but that had been it. He'd felt pretty proud about it until Pierce had told him: Nobody ever screamed the second time. Taylor was no Mensa scholar, but he hadn't had to ask why not.

He chucked the empty gun over his shoulder as muscles turned as dense as steel and grew, grinding bone as they went. Organs shifted and lurched out of position. Bone healed, scarred, broke again and took new shape.

Life was always going to suck like a broken rib through a lung and there was no escape from it, but deciding when, how hard and for how long could be just as good. The wolf had given him control, of his flesh and of his fate.

Taylor ducked his head low, lips pulling back over teeth like cracked granite. He took a long draught of stale air. _That way_. One clawed foot passed in front of the other, and his heavy body sank on its own weight. One claw-nailed hand flexed as he realized his leg still wasn't up to barreling sideways on the walls. His ears twitched as the creak of just-worn leather grew louder. They were turning around.

Fuckdammit.

The death dealers were better trained than he was. He could hear it in the even beat of their hearts. He could smell it in oiled leather and sheeny scent of guns that got cleaned on schedule.

They were better trained, but Taylor knew the area. He scuttled back, barely feeling the dampness against the pads of his feet. Shadows closed around him and he waited.

A beast would have sprung forward on one leg at the first hint of blood.

A beast would have turned pain to power and killed the dealer before he could kill back.

Taylor waited.

He couldn't help a growl when they walked toward him, eyes aimed straight ahead but turning. He was half-crippled in an alcove and a trio of heavily armed dealers were headed toward him. _Oh shit. Oh shit. Oh shit. _Gunfire and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. They'd got someone.

Three sets of eyes moved his way. Taylor's jaw twitched. He wasn't going to run. Of course, with a fucked up left leg he couldn't if he wanted to, but it felt better to decide that he wasn't going to run. The one in front raised his weapon and fired.

He missed by at least three feet.

Taylor blinked. He'd been sure that—They'd all been sure, but...

_...they can't see in the dark? All that funky blue-eye stuff and they can't tell that I'm—_ The one with the short black beard came forward half a step and peered cautiously in Taylor's direction, eyes passing smoothly over nothing. _Okay._

The lead death dealer's face showed fear but not enough. This guy knew exactly what it meant to come waltzing into the werewolf den with a picnic basket full of silver. This wasn't some kid to drag off into a cop car. This wasn't some dupe of a candidate with no idea what he was in for.

Well... Taylor realized as the vampire blinked into the darkness. Maybe the part about not knowing what he was in for.

Taylor sprung forward on one leg and tasted blood. The death dealers were better trained, but it didn't take much to pull neck bones out of alignment and duck toward the next guy. Weapons flared. Taylor turned pain into power and killed the dealer before he could get killed back.

A beast would have stopped to pull flesh from bone and swallow its kill. Taylor went looking for Lucian.

_.  
.  
._

Pierce had been right; he couldn't track worth a damn, so he followed the sound. The boss probably wouldn't be the source of the loudest noise, but what could a guy do? It took a long time to find the way. Taylor knew all the routes in and out – Lucian had insisted on that – but the clash of claw and steel and bullet changed any map he might have built in his head. Dragging his damned leg didn't help either.

He didn't know what to fear more, the noise or the quiet. By the time he reached the lower level, the fighting had sunk to a low clamor. As hopeful as he'd been, he knew better than to think this meant that they were winning.

There was a crashing sound, and a sickening aquatic crunch as the eighteen inches of water on the lower level failed to keep a body from hitting the concrete underneath. Taylor hauled himself forward, hugging the shadows.

The new guy didn't scream during his second change. Didn't look to happy, but he didn't scream. Taylor felt something almost like a grin pull his fangs bare as he watched the candidate writhe in the water, his rib cage expanding in uneven bursts as his skin grew bristles and his jaws stretched long. Newbie or not, Michael Corvin had bent steel on his first night, Taylor remembered as the new guy's skin darkened and stretched over a bulkier frame. Whoever'd just lobbed the new guy through the divider was going to get his _ass_ kicked.

The new guy convulsed, one arm dripping oily water as the fingers splayed nearly backwards into a full lycan span

...and seemed to shrink. Taylor's eyes widened. The new guy's whole body was shrinking back to human size. Why would a death dealer bother to dope a guy up with enzyme when there was half a mint full of silver handy? And _then_ why chuck him through the glass into a half-flooded atrium? What kind of vampire felt the need to—

He froze. Like a rabbit in the headlights, he didn't move a hair. Thoughts of Lucian fled his mind. Thoughts of anything.

He would never be sure how he knew it was him. Taylor had never seen Viktor, and what little he'd heard the boss say about him hadn't lingered too long on what the guy looked like, but he was absolutely sure. Purpose and power radiated outward from the lines on his face, each knuckle on both withered hands that clenched the blades with a grip like adamant. Viktor was a monster to his bones. And Taylor couldn't move. And the bastard wasn't even looking his way. After one lightheaded moment, he finally got his chest to move in and out, his lungs to draw air.

It was nearly twice that before it occurred to him to wonder what the vampire _was_ looking at. By the time he really got his mind out of first gear, there wasn't anything to see. Corpse-blue eyes traced the shadowed, empty water.

_Okay..._ Taylor thought. _Where the hell did he—_ The next ten seconds were a blur. Water hissed and voices seethed. A growling like the underworld itself shook the earth, the stronghold, Taylor's mind as _something_ pulled Lucian's great enemy off the landing and into water gone wild.

It was Corvin, wasn't it? The boy's features were still just clear enough to make out. Taylor's head shook, just barely, side to side. Something had gone wrong. Something had to have gone fuck-all wrong for a candidate to be duking it out with Viktor and the boss nowhere in sight.

Someone crashed against a pillar, pulling his attention back to the present. Holy fuck; he was _fast!_ Strong Taylor had expected, but shit, this dude was running around like Sonic the Hedgehog on steroids. Michael Corvin had no idea how to throw a punch; Taylor was just good enough himself to know a real amateur when he saw one. By all rights, Viktor should have turned him to nothing by now, but it looked like the kid was actually holding his own. Taylor was so absorbed in watching them that three death dealers –oh shit oh shit oh shit – filed into place without so much as a flinch from him. He barely noticed when the one with the two barettas and the Pat Benatar complex walked up behind them.

But he sure as hell noticed when she took them out. Whatever was going on here, Viktor's little Sonja standin didn't seem to be minding the death dealer hard line.

And if _that_ wasn't hot...

The fight went on. None of the participants seemed to know he was there and Taylor was happy as hell to keep it that way. Sonic the Hybrid let out a roar when Viktor knocked the death dealer to the ground. Taylor's jaw flexed. The dusk-skinned creature fighting for its life down there was probably the strongest being on the planet, fast and deadly with claws that Taylor would kill for. The sum total of six hundred years of hope and bloodshed.

And he was going to die.

There was a reason why the boss had wanted to make the transformation himself, more than one if he counted the desire to personally sever Viktor's trachea without benefit of an anesthetic.

Viktor struck and the hybrid dodged.

Viktor left an opening, too obvious by far.

_Don't_, Taylor half-prayed from the shadows. _Don't try to—_

Corvin lunged for the elder's exposed collarbone and found himself locked at the wrist.

Taylor's eyes slid shut. This was the end. Even if a few of them managed to eke out a fugitive existence, the lycan's strongest champion, their master plan had been defeated. From here on out, it was only a matter of—

_"Time to die_...

Soon enough.

There was a slice and a splash. Taylor felt the breath leave his body. What next?

There was quiet. Water dripped. The pool sloshed gently under two sets of feet. Taylor dared to look.

_What the he— _

A robed figure in the drink and a sword sliding from the death dealer's hands while the new guy looked on.

He could feel the air around him, in his lungs again. Could she have killed her own master? And for what? To save an untrained half-lycan who probably _still_ didn't know how to throw a punch?

Taylor felt a long-lipped lycan grin change his startled face.

And if _that_ wasn't hot...

There was a long pause. The death dealer raised her head and cautiously surveyed the area, the now-vertical new guy following suit. Two eyes like jet fell on Taylor.

He backed away. He'd been ready for the boss to turn half-vampire and that was on thing, but for all that this guy had just knocked the lycans' greatest enemy into a pylon or two, he didn't have six hundred years of grace and loyalty behind him ... and there was no telling whether he was still mad about the car and the two-by-four and Taylor wasn't sure the new guy knew it had been Pierce and not him.

The death dealer left, Michael Corvin following obediently at her heels. Taylor wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or gypped. Corvin was leaving, after all they'd done for the guy?

Taylor's eyes caught on a glint. The death dealer had something in her hand... something that Taylor had seen many times. He felt the impact of the silver grenade again. It shredded his leg, pierced his gut, knocked his head against the wall.

It would have made more sense to just jump down into the atrium and start sniffing around, but death dealers tended to interpret that as an attack ...because it usually was. This particular death dealer was probably nervous enough to begin with and he didn't need her turning trigger happy. For all that her decapitation jobs seemed to leave a good chunk of skull still on his neck, Taylor was pretty sure he wouldn't be in much shape to complain after if she decided to perfect the matter on him.

He turned and headed back through the tunnels. Even as it was, his leg was screaming. But it was the only thing that was. His ears twitched. No gunshots, no growling, no slash of claw on flesh...

_Everyone's dead_, Taylor realized. _Not just on our side;_ everyone's_ dead._ For some reason that thought chilled him. A lycan defeat he could have bought, but a total massacre on both sides?

_We actually held our own._

Taylor found him in the anteroom near the exit shaft. He let out a hiss as his leg finally gave way. He slid down against the lost bricks, panting hard. He was too heavy. Muscle pulsed and bone crunched. He knew how hard was too hard and took the easy way for once. Breath came and left him in a pained pant, his human throat adding only a little sound.

Himself would have made sense. Pierce made sense. Singe had been hard to believe, but this... Taylor swallowed a heavy, sticky knot of nothing. There was a force of nature lying slouched against the broken bricks.

He closed his eyes and touched one grayed hand.

"Goodbye, boss."

There was a slap of skin on the wet floor. Expendable shoes. Another man stood next to him.

He turned to look. It was just another one of the guys, short hair and a scanty scruff of what passed for a beard around here. Taylor looked back to Lucian.

"Should we bury him?" the other guy asked.

Taylor held in part of a laugh. "And what? Carve 'great leader of the werewolves' on his grave?" he coveredhis mouth with his hand for a moment. "Maybe if we were in southern California. He was all about keeping us alive. I don't think he'd be too happy if we did something stupid like stick around and wait for the human cops come and corner us and we have to kill them."

Scruff-boy answered with a frown in his voice. "They'd just draw guns? We wouldn't be able to sneak out?"

"Trust me."

Taylor turned back to the other man.

"Are we the last two?"

"There are a couple who might've made it," he admitted. "We should check."

"They'll be back."

"Or the humans will." Taylor's thoughts twisted through the next sequnce of events: Find other survivors. Grab anything useful. Run like hell for base camp. Keep running. Fuck but he wished someone could tell him what to do after that. "I know you," he said to the other man, "but I never caught your name."

"Jonah," he answered.

"You weren't here long before I was, were you?"

He shook his head.

"We both beat the spread, then." Taylor almost managed to smile.

"I guess."

Taylor opened his eyes. "How many does that leave?"

Jonah shrugged. "Aside from you and me? Maybe four. I'm pretty sure I heard someone moving—"

"No, I mean how many all together?" asked Taylor. "With everyone back at base camp?"

Jonah was quiet. "What do you mean?" he asked softly.

Taylor didn't know how to answer. What _did_ he mean, anyway? "I don't have a plan," he admitted.

"Me either," answered the other man. "Did _he_ even have a plan for after tonight?"

_We may yet get the chance to bring our species to its potential. There will be warriors, yes, but also scholars, scientists— _

"Yeah," Taylor nodded. "He did." Something difficult built in his eye. Singe. Pierce. Lucian. He shook his head. "But it's not the sort of thing that we..." He closed his eyes. "It was the sort of thing he'd have had to do himself."

But it was okay to give more than a passing damn when a good man finished things up, even if he hadn't been all that good. They could still come out of this. It was about proving Lucian right. It was about proving Pierce and Singe right. It was about being a lycan in a way that was worth more than one breath and then another.

Taylor steadied his hands against the earth and looked up. At first he thought it had been a long time since he'd looked another man in the eye like this. Then he realized that he never had.

_Warrior in civilization._

"I think I have an idea," he said.

_.  
.  
._

_My name is Taylor and I have done brutal things. I will probably do more before I'm through. The fact that things just as bad happened to me doesn't change that. Becoming a better man won't change that. Carrying out someone else's dream as if it were mine won't change that. _

_I'm going to do it anyway. _

_I will do it because what I am is worth keeping in the world. I'm not as smart as Lucian, but I've never been ashamed of it. Things aren't going to go the way he wanted, but they're going to go. I don't know how I'm going to go about living with it, but I'm going to live with it. So are a bunch of other people if I have anything to say about it. I'm going to find a way to be lycan in a way that means more than one breath and then another. _

_And maybe recruit some chicks._

_.  
.  
._

THE END

_.  
.  
._

drf 24 at columbia dot edu


End file.
